


Flecks of Gold

by Tandirra



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Sex, Loki Has Issues, Thor is a good brother, mentioned unhealthy relationships, this is a story about frostmaster without any real frostmaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 08:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandirra/pseuds/Tandirra
Summary: Sakaar leaves unique scars. The Grandmaster even more so.ORLoki has an emotional breakdown





	Flecks of Gold

Flecks of gold, remnants of the Grandmaster’s favorite lotion that he’d all but demanded Loki use, remained on Loki’s skin for weeks after he’d escaped Sakaar. Despite the hours spent under the Ark’s harsh showers, scrubbing until his skin was raw and pink, Loki couldn’t seem to free himself of them. Even after the all too sweet cloying scent of the product had left him, they remained, a marker of his failings. They caught the pale lights of the ship, glinting on his hands, his arms, his legs. He ignored them, mostly, saved by just how totally he covered himself; though even then they found their way into the cuticles of his fingernails. His solution was to keep his hands behind his back or at his sides at all times.

It didn’t matter of course, not really. They meant nothing, were just bits of glitter. They held no nefarious purpose nor outward assault on his person. In other circumstances he would have ignored them entirely or even enjoyed them. Out of all the things the Grandmaster had offered him the lotion had been a genuine gift. Perhaps the Grandmaster had liked the smell of it, or how soft it left Loki’s skin. If it was a selfish gift- well, the Grandmaster had done worse. Far too many times for Loki to count. None, though, had left such a physical lasting mark. Likely _that_ was its purpose.

And there one was now, rearing its head in the middle of a discussion with Thor and Heimdall. Perhaps it would brush off. If he could _just—_

“Brother,” Thor’s voice snapped Loki out of picking at the gleefully resilient glimmer on the skin between his forefinger and thumb. “What are you doing?”

Throwing his hands down to his lap and hastily covering them, Loki too quickly shrugged. “Expressing my crippling boredom.” Flashing a wide smile he didn’t feel, Loki watched Thor shift uncomfortably in his seat, clearly doubtful. “But I’m listening,” he lied, “please continue posthaste.”

After a short pause, the two did, continuing their musings on the food rations aboard the Ark. Loki went back to ignoring them within seconds, instead glancing down at his hands.

Careful to keep them below the table, Loki scowled, his faintest hopes fading when he saw the glittering speck still firmly stuck to his skin. It was as if they’d infected his very being. And worse still, he’d only accomplished irritating the skin around the speck. He made a move to itch at it, but stopped himself, the Grandmaster’s words pinging around his head. _That’s an ugly habit, doll. And besides, I know better things you can be doing with those hands._ Delivered with a wide, expectant smile that lingered all too fresh in Loki’s mind. 

Flinching, Loki’s knee hit the stone table as it bounced. He blinked away watery eyes as the pain throbbed up his leg.

“Loki.” It was Heimdall that spoke this time.

“Fine, I’m fine.” Crossing his arms, Loki met Heimdall’s eyes, daring him to disagree. Beneath the table, his leg bounced a nervous beat.

Heimdall didn’t back down, however. His golden eyes seemed to stare through Loki, knowing him to his core. Perhaps he did. Perhaps he knew what happened on Sakaar. Had he seen–

Thor cleared his throat conspicuously. “If you so wish to go, Loki, you can.”

Released, mercifully, by Thor’s words, Loki rose, finally tearing himself from Heimdall’s unwavering gaze, feeling all too much like he’d lost that particular battle. He ignored the concern on Thor’s face, nodding sharply. “Of course. This is beneath me, I’m sure you two can manage by yourselves.” Summoning up his crooked grin again, Loki left the two of them with a confident flourish. He kept that confidence despite how every step he took his skin itched like he need tear it off. That he didn't run through the hallways was a feat he couldn't help but be the smallest bit impressed with.

He did, though, near collapse into his quarters, the door not giving way fast enough to totally hide the first panicked gurgle that rose and choked him. Stumbling towards his bathroom, hands shaking, Loki vanished his chest piece with a thought. It took too long to roll up his sleeves. The fabric of his shirt scratched incessantly against him as he did. He stared at the edges of the mirror in front of him, unwilling to see anything but the corner of a reflection, to face himself.

Even before he truly looked he could see his arm glittering. He was practically dripping gold, drowning, a mocking statue to his own failings. What a picture he’d make then, a once king turned whore turned– the Grandmaster’s words echoed in his head:  _doll._ That’s all he’d been, a doll to be marked and used. Not even an animal. And he’d let it happen. And a part of him had _liked_ it, relished in being a _thing_ for use.

A wave of nausea hit him but he was frozen in place. He fumbled for the faucet, turning the water too hot even as he splashed his face. It did nothing to help, did nothing but burn.

He was dirty. He’d let himself become dirty. The gold was proof of that. Simply a gaudier dirt. It was a claim in different skin. But a claim all the same.

 _Pretty thing, you know just what you are- that’s what I love._ Whispered the Grandmaster in his ear. Loki could practically feel the hands in his hair, tugging him, leading him like an object. Using him. Stripping him of his so carefully guarded control.

And he'd submitted. Reveled.

His chest was going to burst. He heaved into the sink but nothing came up. Part of him was thankful for that.

It wasn’t until his hands began to ache that he realized how tight he gripped the edges of the sink. Loosening them, with trembling effort, Loki slumped against the cold metal, hair trailing into the burning water that flowed loudly and freely, concealing every rasp of a breath he could manage. He could feel the heat against his face but cared not.

For survival. That’s why he’d done it. He couldn’t have afforded to care. And really, it was nothing. He’d done worse. He had no reason, none at all, to act like this. All he had to do was pull himself together. It was nothing, after all. It didn’t matter what had happened.

Loki bit down on his lip and closed his eyes tight, trying to let his mind rest. To focus on the pain and nothing else. But his stomach churned. His mind raced, jumping from one thing to another. To the Grandmaster’s hands on his hips, guiding him, nails digging into his overheated flesh. To the taste of the Grandmaster, tingling with a certain heady power that overwhelmed every other sense. To begging for release, a tugging need deep in his guts–

He heaved again. Still nothing. His face was burning. Every breath rasped in his throat that tried to close. Even his body didn’t act as it should.

His body. What did it matter what happened to his body? The Grandmaster had not done the worst. He’d been pulled apart and put back together again far more literally than what the Grandmaster had tried. Then why did _this_ leave him gasping? It was nothing. And he’d _liked_ it.

No amount of late regret could change that pleasure. Did he even deserve to feel dirty when he’d plunged himself headfirst into that world? No. No, of course not. Then why couldn’t he get ahold of himself? He was pathetic, shivering on the ground, a once king laid bare to what he truly was: a discarded object longing to be used.

Tasting blood, he unclenched his jaw and freed his tongue he hadn’t even realized he’d been biting down on. His mouth was throbbing. He deserved that. Deserved worse than that.

Shame bubbled like tar in his gut, thick and burning hot. He heaved again to no avail. Shame was unnecessary, he had no need of it. And in the past he’d done so well to purge it from his system. But it stuck so diligently to him now. He could barely look Thor in the eyes some days. Thor, Thor who had no idea what he’d done. If he did, surely Thor wouldn’t look at him like that, like he deserved to be _respected,_ of all things.

Could he have laughed, he would have. But nothing could escape past his throat. Nothing but stuttered breaths that only deepened his boiling shame.

The Grandmaster had heard him make that sound, _made_ him make that sound. Laid him bare in all ways. He’d teetered on that edge of pleasure, gasping, pleading at the Grandmaster’s request. _What do you want, hmm?_ Delivered with a smile Loki couldn’t look at dead on. _What do you want me to do to you?_ And he’d answered, squirming, keening, begging to be fucked and used.

He didn’t even try to vomit again as his stomach churned, just let it sit and ferment.

Compliant. Willing.

Struggling to regain his footing, he let his hand slip into the stream of water, winced as it burned, as his every instinct cried out to pull away back to safety. But did he deserve that? After everything he’d done. After he’d been complaint. Fire cleansed, so the story goes. Fire had cleansed the sins free from Asgard and in doing so left nothing because the foundations themselves were rotten. Was he not the same? If he burned would there be anything left? He had to doubt it.

A high pitched laugh finally managed to bubble past the blockage in his throat. He winced at the sound. His hand was burning, it felt like the skin would melt to the bone. Still, he didn’t move.

The ghost of the Grandmaster’s lips on his neck made him shiver. And he’d liked it. Even at his most apprehensive he’d not said no. Nevermind that he doubted he could've and lived. He hadn’t even tried. Not even put in the effort. So what pity did he deserve? None, none at all.

This was all so unnecessary. This hysteria. 

The hand not burning he slammed against his thigh. In the throes of it all, he’d liked it; his flesh had burned and crawled for the Grandmaster and what the Grandmaster could do. The Grandmaster had made it simple to forget about what had come before. About the possible death of Thor, of Odin. The Grandmaster had been there, using him, but in a way that Loki needed, wanted and craved. How resentful could he be?

After all, a part of him missed it. Which left him only sicker. The Grandmaster had obsessed upon him, lavished him in false praise that had felt so real, so outstanding. Even now he craved that. It felt _good_ in all of the twisted ways Loki couldn’t acknowledge. The Grandmaster had made him feel good in just as many intervals as he’d left him otherwise. If he truly wanted to, he wouldn’t dwell on the Grandmaster now. But that _want,_ that want betrayed him.

And, again, he’d survived. There was no need for these hang ups. No need to feel this way. He didn’t want to. But he never got what he wanted. Even when he did was it truly what he wanted? What he needed? It didn’t matter; his decaying sense of self, his body, they didn’t matter. So why did they, suddenly? It’d been so easy to brush them aside in the name of survival. Now though, they bubbled to the surface like poison, refusing to be denied payment for the abuse he’d personally lobbied against them.

The hand gripping his thigh glittered gold. Despite himself he heaved again, tearing his burning hand out of the way. He winced at the acidic taste in his mouth. At the splattering sound. At the smell.

He stumbled away from the sink, feeling not purged, only hollow. And still his hands glittered. A wild thought told him to cut them off. That would fix things. That–

His back hit the wall hard enough to shake stars in his vision.

“Loki?” It was Thor, from the other room.

_Fuck._

“Are you well? We’ve noticed you acting strange… Not that- that’s necessarily bad…” Thor trailed off, footsteps drawing closer.

Loki had to get it together. None of this mattered. Thor didn’t need to see him like this. He stood with a mighty effort but soon as he saw his own reflection, he almost collapsed again. There were tears wetting his face he hadn’t realized he’d shed. His eyes were bloodshot. Even as he reached for a hasty illusion, Thor stepped into the mirror’s view behind him. Loki watched Thor’s face fall even further from the frown he’d already worn.

It was fine. He’d say something witty and brush it off. He’d say it was nausea from the rocking of the ship, or a bad meal, or… or–

“Loki!” Thor’s hands were on his shoulders, holding him at arm's length.

Unable to meet Thor’s eyes, Loki stared at his boots. It would be fine. He’d just have to say so. Simple. Beautifully simple. “It’s- I’m,” he stumbled over his words. So much for a silver tongue. His face was burning red hot. “I’m–” _Fine._ It was just a word. Just a single word even the dimmest of children knew. Why couldn’t he speak? There were fresh tears on his face. Shame burned in his stomach. Droplets fell onto the dark leather of Thor’s boots. If he melted into nothing here and now, that would be mercy.

“Loki, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Thor shook him, if lightly. Though he seemed to hesitate before he spoke again. “Is it something I did? If so, I’m deeply–”

Barking a sharp laugh, Loki felt Thor jerk back. The idea was ridiculous. “Idiot,” he said and heard Thor huff slightly. But when he tried to say more, his jaw locked on the words, silencing him. A cold shiver went down his spine despite the fire defining him. He stared at his hands, at the mark of glitter there.

There was a long silence in which Loki could feel Thor following his gaze. “If not me… Sakaar, then?”

Was it truly that easy? He’d thought he’d done a fine job of hiding any misgivings he’d felt. Some God of Lies he was. “Leave, Thor. I don’t need…” He couldn’t finish the rebuttal, it stuck like a knife in his chest, scraping and rupturing the innermost parts of him. Perhaps he’d bleed to death and it would all be over.

“If you truly want me to go, I will.” Though Thor sounded like he deeply didn’t want to. Loki couldn’t follow through. Instead he just wiped at his eyes with one hand, hoping desperately the glittering gold wouldn’t spread. “We all went through something different on Sakaar, Loki. Me, Valkyrie, even Banner. We were all used. I must believe you too experienced that. Tell me, it will make you feel better.”

“Will it?” Loki clutched at an icy shard that rose from his burning ashes. It compelled him, sharpening his tongue and turning his words venomous. “If you so guess then isn’t it obvious, brother? Put your mind to it, I’m sure you’ll realize soon enough. I mean,” he laughed and the sound made Thor wince, “there’s only so many ways the Grandmaster used people, as you so astutely mentioned. What am I good for?” Possessed by this fledgling bravery, if it could be called that, Loki stared Thor down, challenging him. He wanted to see Thor’s reaction, needed to see him recoil in horror. Wanted him to disavow him, to call him out for the coward- the whore- he was.

Thor said nothing for a long moment, face a small frown. But Loki saw the realization hit him, saw it in the hardening of his eye, in the tight line of his jaw, in the way his hands tightened on Loki’s shoulders. “No.”

“Yes!” Loki felt almost giddy, his heartbeat was pounding in his ears He was riding high on this adrenaline, not caring when the crash came. In the moment it felt wonderful, he felt _alive._

“He- that _monster-_ you didn’t–”

He laughed again. _“I_ did. I- I…” The ice cutting through him shattered in an instant. The shrapnel of it ravaged his guts, throbbing through the haze of numbness that enthralled him. Why hadn’t Thor pulled away? He should have by done that now. There was fury in Thor’s eye. But Loki felt none of its heat. Why not? Did he not deserve it?

Thor was shaking. “How much- no, wait, I do not…”

“More than you can imagine,” Loki said to Thor’s boots, he felt Thor release him. Here it came, his denouncement. He braced for the blow. He’d wanted it moments ago, yet now the thought left him feeling ill. Thor said nothing for a long time, too long. “Thor?”

His forehead hit Thor’s shoulder as Thor pulled him into a tight hug. “Loki, I’m sorry.”

The words almost didn’t register, he heard them as if through water. “W-what?” He must have misheard, surely. Pinned against Thor he couldn’t even move, only stand there, numb as his stomach churned.

“What you went through, I’m sorry you had to do that.” There was a low burning rage barely concealed in Thor’s voice. “If I’d known- I would have ripped his head from his shoulders.” Thor shook his head, not letting Loki go.

Perhaps Thor simply didn’t understand. “It wasn’t just- I sought that out. _Me_. I played just as much a part!” Loki had all but spelled it out, surely Thor would see that he was to blame. That he was being ridiculous and call him out for that, snap some sense into him.

It didn’t seem to get through, as Thor frowned down at him, anger still etched into his single whole eye. “He was the one with the power. What you had to do–” He looked away and Loki saw him grimace. “What you felt you had to do, that was because of him and him alone. I’m not blaming you for that.”

“Why not?” He couldn’t understand. The numbness was fading. His body ached. His hand stung, his cheeks were burning still. There was a tight knot in his chest that left him breathless. Thor’s arms were warm around him, not uncomfortably so. Not like the scorch of the water still rushing somewhere behind him.

“Why–” Thor seemed caught off guard, frown deepening. “Wh- Because I don’t care, Loki. We’re more than what we did on Sakaar.”

“Am I? I can’t- can’t escape him.” He should just stop, just accept it. But words were flowing like water. “I dream about him. They’re not all nightmares. I… miss him sometimes. Despite it all, despite _knowing–”_ His voice broke.

What Loki thought was pity in Thor’s gaze turned to something else, something like understanding. “You’re not bad for that. Sakaar held a glittering freedom in its trash heaps. When I was in the arena it was easy to forget about Hela, about Father. Giving into that fighting was an escape. And wasn’t Valkyrie doing the same with drink? And the Hulk, smothering Banner to forget about him and his home planet? The freedom wasn’t real, though. It never was. It was all a facade.”

“You said I belonged there.” He felt Thor wince. “I’m no less… false. I tried to stay, to stab you in the back for the Grandmaster’s approvals.”

“You did. And I did say that.” Loki braced for a blow. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

The apology was a blow in itself, somehow harder than any physical attack. “I’ve never apologized.” The statement sounded petulant, childish. He didn’t even know why he’d said it. Perhaps it was just another failing to top the pile that defined him.

Thor sighed, only tightening his embrace. “I know. I don’t need you to, Loki. If I did would I be here? We’re _family.”_

Thor wasn’t going to denounce him. Suddenly lightheaded, Loki leaned against him, accepting the embrace and curving his spine into it. And it felt nice, truly so, not the guilty, sickening kind of pleasure that the Grandmaster inspired.

One of Thor’s hands braced against the back of his head. Loki felt him sigh again, a lighter sound this time. “Today’s a new day, Loki. Maybe today is not the day every wound heals, but it’s one step closer. _We’re_ one step closer to that healing. We’ll get there eventually.” With Thor’s earnest confidence, Loki had to nurture the most fledgling of beliefs.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a little cathartic.


End file.
